Academy’s Villain Professor

Chapter 26: Outing (2)

So-hee stumbled back, startled, but hit the wall behind her.

Ho-cheol’s words were vague, but his pursed lips and resolute gaze radiated an intent to silence her permanently.

Had a month of near-cohabitation softened her guard?

Was it because she’d never triggered his trait?

Or the bond and goodwill built up?

Whatever it was, she’d been too complacent.

He was a vicious villain who’d terrorized an era.

He could drop his mild facade and reveal his true colors any moment.

She fumbled at her waist, but nothing was there.

Her self-defense gear, once carried, had been left in a corner, deemed too heavy.

She had no means to protect herself.

Ho-cheol’s hand neared.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

You bastard!

Acting friendly, now showing your true face!

Betrayed, she braced for a final counterattack.

But his hand didn’t touch her.

When the expected didn’t happen, she cautiously peeked.

His hand had passed her face, merely closing the open window behind her.

He spoke briefly.

“It’s spring, but dawn air’ll give you a cold.”

Embarrassed, So-hee mumbled, nodding vaguely.

She’d let the dawn’s sentimentality spark wild delusions.

Yelling or fighting back would’ve been mortifying.

“Alright, I’m off.”

But seeing him slip out of the dorm, she snapped.

Startled, she grabbed his sleeve.

“You’re actually going?”

“What, fake going?”

Checking the time, she considered.

The new tracker sent location data at intervals, not real-time—every ten minutes.

“…Five minutes. Can you be back in five?”

Her maximum concession, squeezed out.

But Ho-cheol, oblivious to her effort, shrugged nonchalantly.

“Can’t promise. I’ll try, but it might take five hours longer.”

“That’s sixty times longer!”

Unable to hold back, she exploded.

She usually gave in to his stubbornness, but only within safe bounds.

His actions weren’t just crossing the line—they soared past it.

If trouble hit, he’d be screwed, so why was she the one panicking?

“I’ll be careful not to get caught.”

He raised a finger from her grip, pointing at the tracker.

“It’s got a tracker—how won’t you get caught?”

“It’s a dummy.”

Her eyes widened.

Her finger dropped from the tracker.

Seeing her shock, he asked, surprised?

“What, you didn’t know?”

She had no clue.

The agent who gave her the tracker hadn’t mentioned it.

Not a clearance issue—did they not trust her?

Was it an agent’s unilateral move or higher orders?

Seeing her sink into worry, Ho-cheol clicked his tongue.

Not just outdated monitoring—their use of people hadn’t evolved either.

“Even if it’s more about supervision than control, they’re keeping you too in the dark.”

He offered consoling words to the glum So-hee.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back.”

“No, dummy or not, you can’t go!”

Snapping back, she grabbed his wrist.

Why did he stir trouble every time she got a bit down?

“You’ll go to prison if caught! I’ll lose my job!”

“I know.”

Know what?

He wouldn’t say this if he did.

Stomping in frustration, she tried persuading him.

He ignored her.

“Why are you doing this?

If you ignore me and go—”

She pulled her phone from her pocket.

“I’ll report you to the association right now!”

He nodded calmly.

“Do it. Report.”

Expecting hesitation, his flat response threw her off.

“What?”

He shrugged casually.

“Not trying to stop you or hold a grudge. It stings, sure, but you’re just doing your job.”

He wasn’t worried.

Even if she reported, he had a plan.

Still, he hoped she’d let him go.

Just as she felt betrayed, trusting the Ho-cheol she’d seen, he trusted the So-hee he’d come to know.

A bureaucrat with moderate ambition, laziness, tact, and boldness, but with enough hero qualities to prioritize others in key moments.

So-hee clutched her phone, deliberating.

She had to press the button, report to the association, and stop him.

It was the logical choice, weighing risks and rewards.

This wasn’t simple—beyond reprimands, she could lose her job or face prison for colluding with a villain.

Not just her risk—Ho-cheol’s too.

Caught now, it’d be an attempt, and with good defense, he might avoid prison.

Hazard pay and an easy job weren’t the only reasons.

But she couldn’t press it, lowering her hand.

Gripping the phone tightly, she glared, her eyes swirling with complex emotions.

Frustrated, she said.

“You’re such an idiot. Just teach kids, serve your sentence, start fresh. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Yeah.”

“I make you feel guilty or responsible. But do you have to solve it? Can’t you just tell the heroes?”

“Sure, someone else could. But it’s gotta be me.”

“Why!”

Her sharp question came as her pupils contracted.

A rainbow band rippled over her widened whites.

Traits were personal abilities, growing stronger with practice.

Using her trait daily to its limit for a month, its capacity had grown—not surprising.

Meeting her eyes, he answered.

“To ease my guilt. To keep a reckless promise. Maybe…”

His voice grew vague, quieter, less confident.

But through her trait, his color was the opposite.

His dull hue brightened, until…

“Because I think it’s right. For me, and for those around me.”

He stood in pure white before her.

Hooking his index finger, he rubbed his brow.

“I really like this dumb routine. Tomorrow’s better than today, the day after is better still.

Sometimes I want to forget it all and live easy. But…”

He shone so brightly, it was hard to look at.

Yet she kept staring.

His expression, hidden by the light, intrigued her.

Just a guess, but he seemed to smile.

“That’s why I have to do it.”

She made a sound like her breath stopped—admiration or lament, he couldn’t tell.

A brief silence followed.

Hesitating, she sighed deeply.

“Fine.”

Despite her trait’s capacity, her pupils returned to normal.

Not to discern truth, she asked simply,

“Can I trust you?”

She looked at him, not his color.

He answered, brimming with confidence.

“Yeah.”

Covering her face with both hands, she thought, This is crazy.

“…Be back by morning. Eight o’clock, the association’s sending someone. I can’t cover that.”

Her voice echoed through her hands.

“Got it.”

“If we’re caught, I’m in prison too. You’ll take responsibility?”

“If caught… hm. All weekend snacks are yours.”

“That’s your responsibility?”

She crouched, burying her face in her knees.

Since awakening her trait, she trusted no one—couldn’t.

So she wore the mask of a carefree bureaucrat.

She didn’t think it was a flaw—adults were like that.

“Go. Not for snacks.”

“Thanks. I’ll be back.”

He crouched too, patting her shoulder lightly.

As she lifted her head, a fierce wind blew.

Frowning, she brushed hair from her eyes.

In that fleeting second, Ho-cheol vanished.

Ha.

She laughed, incredulous.

If he’d meant to ditch her, he’d leave no trace.

Yet he opened the door, talked, and went through the hassle.

Why?

“This consideration’s unnecessary. Just sneak off.”

Fixing her hair, she sighed and pulled out her phone.

For the tri-hourly report, she wrote briefly: no issues.

* * *

Outside, Ho-cheol approached a car under a streetlight.

Heavily tinted, he couldn’t see the driver.

Without hesitation, he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.

The man in the driver’s seat, staring ahead, greeted.

“Hello.”

A familiar face—the staffer who’d guided them to the president’s office on his first day and greeted him at the tower since.

Ho-cheol, eyes forward, asked?

“What do I call you?”

“Secretary Seong.”

Name or title didn’t matter.

He asked something more pressing.

“How much do you know?”

“The president trusts me quite a bit.”

A roundabout way of saying he knew nearly everything.

Still, clarity was best.

Buckling up, Ho-cheol said?

“Even my relationship with him?”

“Yes. I won’t know less than your monitoring agent.”

“No disgust riding with a vile villain?”

The president’s trusted aide would have a sense of justice as a prerequisite.

“It’s that important. I follow the cause.”

Ho-cheol turned to look at him.

Pursed lips, steady gaze, unwavering pupils, calm heartbeat—no emotional flicker or deception.

Not blind obedience either—a type who buried personal feelings for belief and purpose.

Ho-cheol looked forward, leaning back, muttering in awe.

“Why not a hero?”

“My trait’s not combat-suited.”

“Heroes overlook this, but the toughest aren’t the strongest—they’re the crazy ones. You’d have been tough.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

With that, Seong started the car.

It melted into the darkness.

* * *

The black market.

The term evoked a damp, shadowy alley, but reality was different.

Vibrant neon signs and lively bustle matched any city street.

Step into a dark alley, and things no human should experience unfolded, but they didn’t care.

Looking out, Ho-cheol muttered.

“Still the same.”

Past the dazzling streets, the car stopped before a building.

A massive golden structure, like a jeweled pyramid—Lunard Auction’s grandeur defied description.

Lunard held four auctions yearly.

This year marked its 25th anniversary—100th auction.

A milestone, it was grander than ever.

The car stopped.

Seong glanced at Ho-cheol as he got out.

“Good luck. You’ll need it now.”

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

Ho-cheol, bag in hand, headed to the auction house.

At the entrance, a sharply dressed man approached, a triangular badge matching Lunard’s logo gleaming on his chest.

“Welcome. Please state your purpose, and I’ll guide you.”

Lunard had three guest types.

Tourists, not bidding.

General bidders.

VIPs.

The man didn’t consider the third.

Among thousands, only dozens were VIPs, and Ho-cheol’s shabby attire screamed at tourists.

Yet his demeanor remained impeccably polite.

All guests were valuable.

His response stunned the man.

“VIP auction.”

“…I see.”

The shock was brief. He pulled a tablet from his side, operating it.

“Please provide your nine-digit VIP code. My two-meter radius has soundproofing, so no worries about leaks.”

VIP codes.

Most chose complex digits to prevent theft.

Simple codes meant overwhelming power or status—no one dared steal them.

The man waited, tense, for Ho-cheol’s code.

He answered lightly.

“QWER1234. Plus an exclamation mark.”

“…I’ll verify.”

To the man, the absurdly simple code screamed, “Steal it if you dare—I’ll find and destroy you.”

Checking the tablet, he nearly dropped it.

His gloved hands grew clammy.

No detailed info, but annotations were attached.

The first, in bold red.

[Caution! Highly dangerous! If provoked, add joints to limbs.]

Not just thieves—staff too?

Swallowing, he looked up, avoiding Ho-cheol’s eyes, and asked politely?

“Participating in the general auction?”

“VIP only.”

“I’ll guide you immediately.”

Following, Ho-cheol entered the VIP passage effortlessly.

“As the general auction is ongoing, please wait briefly in the lounge.”

Before entering, he asked?

“No mask?”

The man bowed 90 degrees, apologizing profusely.

He’d forgotten a critical step in his tension.

A guest complaint could bring harsh penalties, especially from a VIP—firing was possible.

Worse, this “highly dangerous” VIP could break his limbs.

Ho-cheol just looked at him, bemused.

The fervent apologies made him feel guilty.

He’d only asked in case it was forgotten.

Why the panic?

“A badge with a mosaic trait.”

The man offered a triangular badge, like his but a different color, his hands trembling.

“Used to be masks.”

“Too inconvenient, so we improved it.”

“Huh.”

Shaky hands.

Ho-cheol pinned the badge to his collar.

A translucent film shimmered around his face, then vanished.

No hindrance to his view, but it disguised his face and voice completely.

Impressed by the badge’s trait-infused tech, he nodded.

“Rest well.”

Bowing again, the man vanished down the passage.

The lounge’s lavish decor and plush chairs led to a massive auction door and smaller ones on the walls.

Ho-cheol sat, opening his bag to pull out papers.

A side door opened.

His gaze shifted.

A figure emerged, a mosaic badge obscuring their face, but their build and clothes suggested a woman.

She didn’t sit or admire the decor, standing dazed, broadcasting inexperience.

Finally noticing, she scurried to a chair.

Ho-cheol lost interest—or tried to.

His head turned back.

Her gait, stride, breathing pattern—enough for him to identify anyone.

Honed in his villain days, this skill rivaled traits.

One person matched perfectly.

“That idiot.”

He sighed.

“Do your assignment. Why’re you wandering at night?”

It was definitely Choi Da-yeon.